There's Something Wrong With Dean
by SweetJubilee
Summary: What happened during the two month hiatus between the episode 'In My Time of Dying' and the episode 'Everyone Loves a Clown? Stuck at Bobby’s, Sam wonders what's happening to his older brother while Dean fixes his car. . .


No, I don't them either.

I wrote this as a rough draft almost a week ago, and was really amazed how beautifully it fits in with Croatoan's generally premise.

Many thanks to Faye _(Yeah! Faye!)_ who took the time _(so, so much time)_ betta-ing this. She is truly a gifted writer and turned this one-shot fic that spewed forth from my noggin during my lunch break at work into something beautiful.

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There's something wrong with Dean.

It's been two months.

Two months since their dad died. Two months since the Demon got away with the only thing in this world they knew would exterminate it forever. Two months since Dean woke up. Two months since the bottom of their world crumbled away right out from under their feet, leaving them with nothing. Nothing but each other.

But, that's always been enough before. More then enough. Here lately, though, the undeniable connection that's always been between them . . . isn't.

Two months.

They've been stuck at Bobby's for almost two months now. For Sam, every hour, every moment, has gone by so painfully slow that he can scarcely breathe under the sheer weight of it. Each new sunset is a reminder that yet another day has gone by without his dad. That another day has passed without the comfort that his older brother used to be so good at providing.

Two months and all Sam sees of Dean are his feet sticking out from underneath his precious car. Two months of hearing the clink of metal on metal and Dean muttering curses under his breath. Two months and they haven't said more then five words a day to each other. Granted, they've always been . . . non-verbal. But now, the silence between them is deafening.

So, here they are. Same as every evening prior, sitting across from each other in Bobby's dining room, eating their evening ceremonial dinner of burgers and fries. To the casual observer, it would seem all is well. Look more closely, though and one would notice the silence between them is far from a contented peace.

Not that it's quiet, though. It's never quiet. That would be just too easy for them.

And nothing is ever easy for them.

No, the air is obstinately filled with tunes of dog-huggin', truck-lovin', guitar-pluckin' twang; Bobby's fondness of god-awful country music infects its way through every inch of his property.

It's not as if Sam's not grateful for Bobby's hospitality and, granted, the guy screams _rustic _from the word go, but each and every country song Bobby plays over that busted-up radio stabs Sam right in the gut, leaving behind a lump in his throat to big for him to swallow. It reminds him too much . . . of his dad.

John and his country music. One of the few constant "scuffles" that Dean and him kept up all these years. Sam can so easily still see John flipping the Impala's radio station to some southern-accented song. Dean would instantly sulk and question John's sanity while John would adamantly defend his choice of music. That's how the rule of 'Driver picks the music' came into existence. But the glows behind both John's and Dean's eyes during their "arguments" would be almost blinding.

Sam doesn't know if Dean can handle hearing Hank Jr's 'Family Tradition' one more time. Sam doesn't think _he_ can.

But, no matter _what_ it reminds them of, having country music constantly play in the background is good for something. And it's positively _not_ lifelong advice about love and Southern Comfort.

At least the constant hum of music--country, rock, rap, even bluegrass --means that you don't have to actually talk to the person you're seating across the dinner table from. Who keeps stealing glances at you while he's inhaling the burger and fries that Sam brings home every night.

Dean eats even faster then before. That doesn't seem like a human possibility, but somehow he manages to down a meal in all of two minutes. Sitting down together to eat supper is the only time Dean and Sam see each other anymore, and it seems to Sam that Dean can't wait for it to be over. Dean pretends that it's because he has get back to his car, but Sam believes the real reason is so Dean doesn't have to be with Sam, listening to their dad's music.

So, if Dean's excuse to get away is his car, that's as good of an excuse as any.

His car.

It's almost poetic that they have no clue where their dad's truck is and Dean's car survived.

That car's been through everything with them. No matter what, it's always been there, waiting for them. Waiting for them to get through killing . . . whatever it was that they were killing . . . waiting for them to get back so they could drive off into the sunrise together.

Sam's always associated the Impala with stability. It is more his home than any one place has ever been. And when Dean came to get him at college, even though his legs barely fit in the front and the music was . . .different, it still felt like home.

Just like Dean. Dean and the Impala, they're a matched set. One didn't go without the other. And Sam almost lost them . . .both of them.

He's so grateful that car survived.

He couldn't face this world if that car didn't survive.

And slowly, Dean's putting it back together. Fixing what's broken. Solo. That's kind of always been his way.

Car parts cost money, though. So does the cheeseburgers and fries that they're both currently gulping down.

And Sam wants so desperately to show Dean that he can do **some**thing productive, and, maybe to have his _own_ form of escape from John's memories, that he became Kwick-Y-Marts newest stock-boy. Complete with bright red vest and matching name tag announcing his name as Cameron Frye. He keeps 'accidentally' leaving it out, hoping Dean will see it and lunge at the chance to snark at his expense, but Dean hasn't yet.

Dean hasn't snarked in a long time.

There's something wrong with Dean.

It's not that he's ignoring Sam, even though that's what he wants Sam to believe. It would almost be easier if Dean _were_ ignoring Sam.

No. What Dean _is_ doing is worse. Much worse.

Sam keeps catching Dean studying him out of the corner of his eye, watching him.

Even now, while Dean's shoveling the last handful of his fries in his mouth, he's watching him. Sam's never felt more like something under a microscope in his entire life. But, sure enough, when Sam looks back at him, Dean drops his gaze and stares at what's left of his burger.

A diminutive sigh escapes Sam's nose and Sam can almost hear his own thoughts out loud,

"God! _Why_ won't he look me in the eyes? Just what's he waiting for, I'd sure like to know."

It's true. Sam already did his breakdown in front of Dean. Thank you very much. Sam's little confession of ache. His 'lay it all on the table' rant. And Sam completely understands that Dean thinks that he can't do that for Sam . . .yet.

Dean's already put up his solid wall of defense. He has built that up so well. Years of practice. Sam might have to do some major deconstruction work before Dean gives in enough to allow himself to start to heal.

Sometimes Sam wishes he could see things the way Dean does. Black. White. No in-between. No doubts. No hesitation. No what-ifs.

He'd sure sleep better at night.

For the first time since Sam can remember, he's not the only one having nightmares. Dean is too. _Sam's_ the one who's supposed to have the images of terrifying events dance behind his eyes in the wee hours of the morning. Not Dean.

Never Dean.

Till now.

There's something wrong with Dean.

And it's killing Sam for him to figure out what it could be.

It's more then John's death.

It's more then John.

So. Here they are. Eating in uncomfortable silence, with the twang of John's/Bobby's music filling the air, casting painfully fleeting looks at each other, one trying franticly to catch the other's eyes, one trying desperately _not_ to catch to other's glances, burying themselves in their pain.

Their silence isn't quite the solace that they yearn for, but it's all they've got.

Because the sun would shine in hell before Dean actually tells Sam what's going on in that head of his. He _is_ the older brother, after all. He's taken care of Sam more then John ever has. Watched out for him. Always had his back. But someday, Dean's got look at Sam as someone who's capable.

Well, no. That's not it. Dean's been proud of how Sam's freakishly curious brain works since as long as they both can remember. He knows Sam's capable. It's as if Dean thinks he has to take care of Sam. And Sam'd be pissed to no end if he didn't wholly, entirely understand why Dean thinks that.

Dean wipes the ketchup on the corner of his mouth off with back of his sleeve and pushes out from the table. Back to his car. Away from Sam.

He tosses a "Thanks" over his shoulder before the screen door slams shut.

"Welcome!" Sam calls out after him.

It's down to one word a day now. One word each.

Why?

It's Sam.

It's as if Dean doesn't want to be around Sam.

Does Sam remind him too much of their dad?

No. Sam doesn't think he's ever reminded **any**one of their dad.

What is it? Why can't Dean look Sam in the eyes? Now that Sam's given it some thought, he doesn't think Dean's really looked him in the eyes since that afternoon in Bobby's salvage yard when Sam exploded in his face.

Is he mad at Sam?

No. Dean hasn't been truly mad at him . . .ever.

It's gotta be something else.

It's Sam. It's the Demon. It's Sam and the Demon and whatever the hell connection they have with each other.

It's got plans for Sam? That's not quite the distraction he was hoping for to get the Demon's attention off of Dean.

"I want to know why".

Sam desperately wishes now that he hadn't blurted that out.

Sometimes ignorance really _is_ bliss. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the reason Jess and Mary died is because they got in between the Demon and Sam. . . well . . . sucks.

The whole situation sucks.

Sam's physic?

Sam's demon fodder's what he is.

No, that's not it. Sam encompasses the future for the demon.

Because of his visions?

Is _that_ why the demon is after him? Has always been after him? Because the Demon wants to see the future? That _would_ be a nifty little asset for it to possess. Sam can see now why it wants him for its own.

Bobby was only half right.

The storms coming, but it's coming for _Sam_. **Because** of Sam.

And Dean knows it.

There's something wrong with Dean because there's something wrong with Sam.

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And, yes, reviews really are fuel for the writer's soul.


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